“It is not clear,” he said. It never is. “An affliction of the inner organs.”
“Would you like someone at our Calm and Balm Clinic to consult?”
“Perhaps not just yet,” he said. “Most likely it is minor, or perhaps even imaginary, as so many of these female complaints prove to be.” There was a pause while we regarded each other. Soon, I feared, he would again be a widower, and in the market for another child bride.
“Whatever I can do to help,” I said.
“Thank you, Aunt Lydia. You understand me so well,” he said, smiling. “But that isn’t the reason I asked you here. We have taken a position on the death of the Pearl Girl we lost in Canada.”
“What in fact transpired?” I already knew the answer, but had no intention of sharing it.
“The official Canadian account of the matter is suicide,” he said.
“I am devastated to hear this,” I replied. “Aunt Adrianna was one of the most faithful and efficient…I placed much trust in her. She was exceptionally courageous.”
“Our own version is that the Canadians are covering up, and the depraved Mayday terrorists enabled by Canada’s lax toleration of their illegal presence killed Aunt Adrianna. Though between you and me, we are baffled. Who can tell? It may even have been one of those random drug-related killings so prevalent in that decadent society. Aunt Sally was just around the corner purchasing some eggs. When she returned and discovered the tragedy, she wisely decided that a swift return to Gilead was her best option.”
“Very wisely,” I said.
Upon her sudden return, a shaken Aunt Sally had come straight to me. Then she’d described how Adrianna had met her end. “She attacked me. Out of nowhere, just before we were leaving for the Consulate. I don’t know why! She leapt on me and tried to choke me, and I fought back. It was self-defence,” she’d sobbed.
“A momentary psychotic break,” I’d said. “The strain of being in a strange and debilitating environment, such as Canada, can have that effect. You did the right thing. You had no choice. I see no reason for anyone else to know about this, do you?”
“Oh, thank you, Aunt Lydia. I’m so sorry it happened.”
“Pray for Adrianna’s soul, then put it out of your mind,” I’d said. “Do you have anything else to tell me?”
“Well, you asked us to be on the lookout for Baby Nicole. The couple running The Clothes Hound had a daughter who would be about the right age.”
“That is an interesting speculation,” I’d said. “You intended to send a report, via the Consulate? Instead of waiting to speak directly with me upon return?”
“Well, I thought you should know immediately. Aunt Adrianna said it would be premature—she was strongly against it. We had words about it. I insisted that it was important,” Aunt Sally had said defensively.
“Indeed,” I’d said. “It was. But risky. Such a report might well have started an unfounded rumour, with dire consequences. We have had so many false alarms, and everyone in the Consulate is potentially an Eye. The Eyes can be so blunt; they lack finesse. There is always a reason for my instructions. My orders. It is not for the Pearl Girls to take unauthorized initiatives.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize—I didn’t think. But still, Aunt Adrianna shouldn’t have—”
“Least said, soonest mended. I know you meant well,” I’d told her soothingly.
Aunt Sally had started to cry. “I did, I really did.”
Hell was paved with good intentions, I’d been tempted to say. But refrained. “Where is the girl in question now?” I’d asked. “She must have gone somewhere after her parents were removed from the scene.”
“I don’t know. Maybe they shouldn’t have blown up The Clothes Hound so soon. Then we would have been able to—”
“I concur. I did advise against hastiness. Unfortunately the agents run by the Eyes in Canada are young and enthusiastic, and they do admire explosions. But how were they to know?” I’d paused, fixed her with my best penetrating gaze. “And you have not communicated your suspicions about this potential Baby Nicole to anyone else?”
“No. Only to you, Aunt Lydia. And to Aunt Adrianna, before she…”
“Let’s keep this to ourselves, shall we?” I’d said. “There need not be a trial. Now, I think you need some rest and recuperation. I’ll arrange a stay for you at our lovely Margery Kempe Retreat House in Walden. You’ll be a different woman soon. The car will take you there in half an hour. And if Canada agitates about the unfortunate condo occurrence—if they wish to interview you or even charge you with some crime—we’ll simply say you have disappeared.” I did not wish Aunt Sally dead: I simply wished her incoherent; and so it has been. The Margery Kempe Retreat House has a discreet staff.
More tearful thanks from Aunt Sally. “Don’t thank me,” I’d said. “It is I who should be thanking you.”
“Aunt Adrianna did not give her life in vain,” Commander Judd was saying. “Your Pearl Girls set us on a profitable course of action: we have made yet other discoveries.”
My heart contracted. “I am happy that my girls were of use.”
“As always, thank you for your initiative. Since our operation involving the used clothing store indicated by your Pearl Girls, we’ve become certain of the means by which information has been exchanged in recent years between Mayday and their unknown contact here in Gilead.”
“And what is that means?”
“Via the burglary—via the special operation—we recovered a microdot camera. We’ve been doing tests with it.”
“Microdot?” I asked. “What is that?”
“An old technology that has fallen into disuse, but that is still perfectly viable. Documents are photographed with a miniature camera that reduces them to microscopic size. Then they are printed on minute plastic dots, which can be applied to almost any surface and read by the recipient with a custom viewer small enough to be concealed in, for instance, a pen.”
“Astonishing,” I exclaimed. “Not for nothing do we at Ardua Hall say ‘Pen Is Envy.’ ”
He laughed. “Indeed,” he said. “We pen-wielders must take care to avoid reproach. But it is intelligent of Mayday to have resorted to this method: not many people today would be aware of it. As they say: if you aren’t looking, you don’t see.”
“Ingenious,” I said.
“It’s only one end of the string—the Mayday end. As I’ve mentioned, there’s a Gilead end—those who are receiving the microdots here and reciprocating with messages of their own. We have still not identified that individual, or individuals.”
“I’ve asked my colleagues at Ardua Hall to keep their eyes and ears open,” I said.
“And who better placed to do that than the Aunts?” he said. “You have access to any house you choose to enter, and with your finer women’s intuition you hear things we dull men are too deaf to register.”
“We’ll outfox Mayday yet,” I said, clenching my fists, thrusting out my jaw.
“I like your spirit, Aunt Lydia,” he said. “We make a great team!”
“The truth shall prevail,” I said. I was quivering with what I hoped would pass as righteous indignation.
“Under His Eye,” he replied.
After this, my reader, I was in need of a restorative. I made my way to the Schlafly Café for a cup of hot milk. Then I came here to the Hildegard Library to continue my journey with you. Think of me as a guide. Think of yourself as a wanderer in a dark wood. It’s about to get darker.
On the last page where we met, I’d brought you as far as the stadium, and there I will resume. As time crept by, things fell into a pattern. Sleep at night, if you could. Endure the days. Hug the weepers, though I have to say the weeping became tedious. So did the howling.